Why Does It Feel So Good?
by si-star-x
Summary: Sleepy!Dean washes sleepy!Sam's hair. Sam managed to get himself covered in mud and ectoplasm, or whatever that green gunk is, and although Dean doesn't mind the shower waiting 'til morning… that hair can't stay all messed up.


As Dean fills the tank with gas, hip leaning heavily against the slick black paintwork, his eyes are bleary and shoulders hunched. He uses the minute to think about how amazing it would be to have a camper-van. A van with pull-out beds and a little kitchenette, a bottle of gas to heat up a can of beans for supper. It was always only moments like this where he had such thoughts, where the idea of sleep was forefront in his mind, only pushed aside upon realising that the journey has a purpose, a destination. The car rocks as he climbs back into the driving seat, silence thick in the Impala as his fingers brush against the cassette tape poking out of the speaker system. Even the sound of blazing metal would do little to keep his eyes open now, he was really that far gone. So he pulled the door shut and kicked the Impala back into action, the easy twist of the wheel and the sweet resistance on the clutch reason enough for why they have never gone for a more practical vehicle.

The act of driving in daylight always comes fairly easily to the guys, especially after a good night of sleep (usually consisting of rare motel beds not riddled with lumps and broken springs). But even when they are still caught in the thralls of tiredness, if there is a steady stream of sunlight beaming in through the wind shield, the brightness is enough to encourage their bodies into staying alert. At times where the sun is bright, it takes meticulous positioning to keep the view of the road ahead clear of glare and although Dean has been known to flip on his shades, Sam usually makes do without, squinting his way through the journey, enjoying the feel of the heat on his back or shoulders. Either way, the bright light and steady flow of traffic alongside them always makes the journey easier to stay alert to.

Driving at night is a completely different situation. The darkness alone serves as a catalyst to entice sleep, and set the dark with the occasional tail or headlight that serve as night-lights - a comforting glow in the midst of quiet stretches of road - it's simply encouragement for tiredness to rear its head and settle deep in each of the men. The hum of the engine is soothing, mesmerising, and the bump across pot holes and turns in the road is a rocking motion that increases the need for unconsciousness. More times than not, the passenger ends up asleep. The driver always has to at least stay alert enough to manage directions and the steady turn of the wheel and switch of gears, but even that is a struggle when they would rather be sleeping.

On this occasion, Sam's head is tilted against the window, the gentle vibrations having already pushed his body to relax to the point of dreaming.

Dean is viciously attempting to stay alert behind the wheel. He is at the point where his eyes are needing to be to forced to remain open, and he knows that if he closes them for more than a blink they are likely to be too sluggish to pull back into action. Deep in thought, he knows that he can't carry on and still be safe to manage the vehicle. He doesn't have the heart to nudge Sam into taking the wheel either, the younger guy has only been asleep for twenty minutes at best and he's only going to be groggy and irritable if woken, a combination too ugly to enlist as designated driver.

So Dean has two sensible options: pull the Impala over and camp out on the side of the road (which Dean would be more than happy to do), or find a motel for the night. The trouble is, the type of motel they stay at are never usually signposted. They are the type of establishment that are stumbled across on the highway, Dean jerking his thumb towards the building and mentioning to Sam that they will have to remember it for next time, although it's not as though they ever make a point of crossing the same journey twice.

A yawn tears through Dean's chest and although he wishes a motel would magically appear ahead of them, it doesn't happen for at least another half an hour. Dean is seriously considering pulling over the car and parking up for the night, the only reason he doesn't is because Sam complains about his back being sore at the best of times, so if he was left cramped up in the Impala for a whole night, he would be complaining like nobodies business. Of course, it wasn't that Dean didn't want his brother to be in pain, he just didn't want to have to put up with the incessant whining that would be a sure fire result.

It was obviously Sam's lucky night, because after another five minutes, the familiar glaringly neon sign that read "motel" jolted into Dean's wavering vision.

"Jackpot," He murmured, the words eliciting another yawn as he pulled a left into the parking lot. "Hey, Sam?"

His eyes wandered to the dash to glance at the time. It was midnight, but these places were notorious for being open all hours - hardly a well-kept secret what a majority of the rooms are used for, hell, they've probably been suspected of it. Dean shuddered and cleared his throat as Sam failed to respond to his words.

He reached over, nudged his brother's shoulder. "Rise 'n' shine, Sammy."

Sam was awake with a jerk, his shoulder bumping against the door as he twisted towards Dean.

"Sorry," His voice was rough from sleep, "We stopping?"

"Need to catch some Z's." Dean spoke as he used his thumb to motion towards the building, the neon sign flickering above them.

Sam looked utterly dishevelled. His hair was a ruffled mess and Dean knew there was gunk and dirt and all sorts of nasty matted amongst the strands of brown. He probably needed to take a shower, they both did, but Dean held very little hope for either of them standing for very long to let much needed hot water cascade over their tired and aching muscles.

Sam grunted as he hauled himself up out of the car, his body protesting in fifty different ways about being stretched out so quickly. He reached his hands high above his head, shirt hitching up and exposing a strip of tanned midriff above the denim of his jeans before smiling in satisfaction as his spine and shoulders popped under the tension.

"Grab the bags," Dean nodded towards Sam, "I'll see if they have a room."

Of course, they did have a room. They always have a room. It was basic, just two single beds far too small for either of the guys to lie comfortably and an en-suite bathroom; toilet, sink and bathtub with a shower hose attached to the taps. It was not the most glamorous place they've stayed in, far from it, but there were beds. Beds were always good.

"You need to wash off." Dean spoke as Sam moved towards one of the beds, seemingly to have already staked it out as his own as he kicked off his shoes.

Sam's voice was slow, thick with both tiredness and the sleep he had just been pulled out of. "I'm good. It can wait 'til morning."

"We're not going to let this crap set overnight, Sam. C'mon."

The puppy expression wasn't going to win this time.

"I'm tired."

"Me too, but we spent what must've been an hour last time cutting out the clumps." Dean looked towards his brother pointedly, "You wanna save your hair or not?"

Sam drew his gaze between the bathroom door and his bed, then shrugged his shoulders, arms hanging limply at his sides. "Too tired." He tried again.

"Just sit your ass on the floor and I'll do it." Dean rolled his eyes as he beckoned Sam along with a hand. "Let's go."

Sam groaned, fixed the puppy expression again, frustrated that Dean, his big brother, could always get his own way.

"C'mon, Sam. I know you love that free motel-grade shampoo."

Sam turned up his nose but trudged forwards regardless of the invasion that was about to be inflicted upon his body.

"Just..." Dean yawned, pointing to the floor next to the tub, "Fold yourself up down there. Lean forwards so I can..."

He nodded as Sam knelt down, sitting back on his knees and then resting his elbows on the pink ceramic.

"Yeah. Take your shirt off, it'll get wet otherwise."

It was Sam's turn to yawn as he eased the dirt-stiff material up over his head.

"Be quick, Dean."

Dean ignored the instruction as he leaned over, flicking on the shower head and testing the water as it trickled through his fingers. It needed to be hot enough to penetrate all of the crap. He yawned again, his chest expanding as his mouth opened wide, free hand briefly clamping across his face. It was true what they said, yawns really were contagious, especially when you would love more than anything to just lie down and sleep.

"Lean forward a little more." He instructed, letting his free hand move over to Sam's head, separating several of the gunked-up strands and pulling out a hardened piece of green goo, murmuring a quiet apology as the tug had Sam jerking away.

Satisfied with the temperature of the water, Dean lifted the spray up and settled it down over Sam's hair. The water dripped down into the bathtub in a strange combination of brown dirt and pieces of foliage and green stickiness. He watched as Sam shifted one arm up to protect his face from the onslaught of dirt, knowing that it probably didn't feel too good as the liquid skimmed past his eyes.

"You used to hate having your hair washed." Dean smiled slightly, lifted the spray so it hit higher on Sam's head, caused a fresh stream of brown to trickle down into the tub.

"I don't mind it now." Sam spoke slowly, his tongue slack as the words fought around the exhaustion.

"I know you don't." Dean chuckled, leaning forward and positioning himself so that he could shoot the spray upwards without soaking himself and their surroundings. Again, several leaves got sucked into the plug hole and dirt streamed down with the gush of liquid. He brushed his free hand through the hair, located the gunk to know where he would need to focus the shampoo.

Dean carefully dropped the shower head into the tub, letting the spray hit the back of the bath and then flood back down the plug hole.

Even cheap motels provided shampoo, probably five bucks for two hundred sachets, but Dean tore open two of them with his mouth, grimacing as the liquid hit his teeth before pouring it into his hands and rubbing them together.

He reached down without warning, started lathering the shampoo into an intense foam surrounding Sam's long, dark hair.

He felt Sam sink down lower, and was pretty sure that he heard a kitten-like purr from the younger guy's throat.

"You like this far too much, Sam." He chuckled again, reaching around Sam's head to raise the foam around his ears and nape of his neck, a few splotches of foam falling down his back and standing out a stark white against his tanned flesh.

"Feels good." Sam sighed, shrugging his shoulders and causing his wet, foamy hair to let another few droplets down his back and down to the waistband of his jeans. "S'making me sleepy though."

"You were already tired." Dean smiled, increasing the volume of foam even more as he ran his fingers through the strands, rubbing across any lumps he could feel and purposely pressing deep into the hair and against his brother's scalp. "Ready to rinse?"

Sam shook his head, no. "More."

"Dude." Dean grinned, gave in to his brother's request for a few seconds longer. "I'll never get the foam out if I keep going. Also, so not prepared to carry you into the bedroom when you fall asleep all over the floor."

"You could just leave me here 'til morning." Sam suggested, pushing his head up into Dean's hand.

"And risk you catching some shit from the bodily fluid that has probably been all over this floor?" Dean scoffed pointedly. "No way, man."

He reached forwards and grabbed the hose, grateful that it skidded back into his palm without covering the room and their person in water droplets.

He started off at the top of Sam's hair, fingers standing aside to let the water do the initial work of rinsing away the suds. The shampoo had turned a shade of brown akin to the water that had rinsed down the plug earlier, but at least now it was taking away the gloop as well as the dirt, and it was replacing the dirty, outdoorsy scent with one of clean soap. As the water alone finished in what it could pull away, Dean let his free fingers join rub away the soap, a flick of the wrist causing more water to trickle down Sam's back.

"You're getting me all wet," Sam squirmed underneath Dean's fingers.

"It'll dry."

Dean's fingers brushed against all of the remaining foam, rinsing it down the plug and ensuring that every inch of the dark brown and sopping wet hair was free of shampoo and whatever else had been in it originally.

"I think we're done."

He flicked off the shower head and rested it back in the cradle above the taps. He reached over himself to grab one of the dark blue towels, and ran it down his brother's back and across the broad shoulders before lifting it up to the head of hair, noting the water still dripping down into the bathtub. Again, without forewarning, Dean positioned it over Sam's head and then replaced his earlier massaging motion with a heavy rub, moving back and forth to suck the moisture away.

Sam's arms weakly raised and he brushed against his face with the towel, flicking back his hair as the damp strands flopped against his forehead.

"Thanks." He mumbled, "That feels better."

"I told you so, didn't I?" Dean chuckled, getting both arms underneath Sam's shoulders as he hauled him up to his feet. "Dude, you turn into four-year-old Sammy when you're tired."

Sam looked up and grinned, his smile lopsided as though the tiredness wouldn't let him fully indulge in the expression. "Want me to do your hair?"

Dean chuckled, shook his head. "I'm good. I'm not the one who fell head first into, well, whatever the heck that was. A big puddle of ectoplasm or something."

"'kay." Sam nodded, another yawn tearing through his body. "Bed?"

"Bed." Dean agreed, following Sam back through into the motel room and flicking off the light.


End file.
